


Today, of All Days

by atropabelladonna1120



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Post Reichenbach, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atropabelladonna1120/pseuds/atropabelladonna1120
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper is not all that she seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today, of All Days

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Und das ausgerechnet heute](https://archiveofourown.org/works/330765) by [ibangmyowndrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibangmyowndrum/pseuds/ibangmyowndrum)



John had planned to restock the pantry and the fridge today. But after nearly an hour of wandering the aisles at the supermarket, it's clear his heart's not in it. Not in the frozen food section, not in the canned goods, not in the fresh produce.

Today is the day, after all: a year since Sherlock leapt off the roof of St. Barts to his death. How does one mark a day like this, a year to the day when light and colour bled out of one's world? Yesterday, John thought he might visit the grave; this morning he decided he wouldn't be able to hold it together if he did.

So here he is at a Tesco, now, and he seems incapable of doing this either. What kind of man goes to a Tesco on a day like this, anyway? John wishes he had stayed in bed.

Well, he's getting milk, at least. That should be relatively easy; he just has to remember he's only buying for one person now. It's been a year already, for God's sake, does he have to get it tattooed on the back of his hand? _MILK FOR ONE_.

He's turning the corner from the supermarket when he bumps into Molly Hooper.

“John!” she squeals, half in shock and half in delight. She's laden with shopping bags.

“Molly.” His face is a little unused to smiling these days, but he manages a quite genuine one for her. They hug awkwardly, tangle of arms and bags and coats.

She looks at him, and there can be no mistaking the concern in her eyes. “You’re thin.” She catches herself quickly. “Thinner. Slimmer, I mean. Not that you were ever fat or anything.”

He smiles. “It’s okay, Molly. Yeah, I’ve lost a bit of weight. Didn’t know you could do that sitting around by yourself half the time, but there you go. Maybe I should write a diet book.” The joke is feeble, the chuckle that accompanies it more rueful than amused.

 “Well, you look good,” she offers, and she takes his hand and squeezes it, even though she’s still clutching the straps and handles of three different shopping bags.

 “How’ve you been? Work at the lab keeping you busy?”

 She gives a sweet little half-shrug. “Oh, you know how it is. People are always dying.”  The look of utter self-reproach that immediately crosses her face is almost heartbreaking. “Oh, no, I mean … what I meant was, there are always dead people –“

 John gives her a look of reassurance. “I’m not made of glass, Molly. I won’t break if you talk about him.”

 Molly bites her lip. “Do you still think about him a lot?”

 He looks away, casts about for something to fix his eyes on. “I suppose I do, yeah. Some days it’s not too bad. Some days I forget, even.”

 When she doesn’t say anything, he looks down at his shoes, stares at them hard. “Well, that's not true. I never forget.”

 Too much time passes without either of them saying a word, and his shoes aren’t interesting enough to fixate on for very long. When he glances back at her, she is looking at him with a clear-eyed tenderness that goes straight to his heart and makes its home there.

 “I promise you this, John Watson, he knows.” Little Molly, her voice so definite, so firm, so certain. "Wherever he is -- _he knows_."

He wishes he had this much conviction. This is new to him, this version of her, this hint of iron manifesting itself to him with just a handful of words.

 “Well. _Wherever he is_.” The three words sound hollow and bitter to his ears. He clears his throat. “Hey, I’d better get home, or this milk will turn into cheese.”

 “Of course,” she says, still looking at him with eyes that are so – knowing? Wise? When did timid little Molly Hooper become so wise? Can a person change so much in a year, or was it always there, this gentle wisdom, this steel-cable faith, hidden away where no one could see it?

She reaches out to hug him again, and it’s like cat’s cradle, except with people instead of hands. They say their goodbyes and have started to walk away from each other when John calls out, “Congratulations on the new boyfriend, by the way.”

 Molly stops in her tracks and turns back slowly. “What?” she asks shakily.

 John gestures toward the shopping bags, smiling. “Unless you cross-dress in private, I’d say you’ve been shopping for a very special young man.”

"Oh." She quickly glances down at the bags -- all from men's boutiques -- turns a little pale, then turns a little red. John feels a twinge of remorse for doing a Sherlock on her -- quick flash of memory, a Christmas party at 221B when he had all but reduced her to tears. “Yes. Yes he is," she says quietly. "Very special indeed.”

"Sharp dresser too, by the look of it," John says, his tone gently teasing. The shops she's been to are known for beautifully cut, quietly tasteful clothes, handsome shoes.

"He's been ... Traveling." She hesitates a split-second, then forges on, talking fast -- a little too fast. "Roughing it, sort of. He just got back, asked me to pick up some shirts and ... things."

 It’s the first time in a year that John’s felt his smile not just in his face but in his eyes, in his heart. “I’m so happy for you, Molly.”

 “John, I – “ She looks as though she's about to say one thing, but then she changes her mind and says another instead. “He’s just a friend, really. But I think you’d like him. I think you'd really ... get along.”

 “Well, I’d love to meet him one day.”

 "Soon. When the time is right." It’s strange, the way she looks at him: like she's holding something back. “I’d love nothing more than for him to meet you.”

 She says it like a prayer. Like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Because Molly. That's all.
> 
> I own none of these wonderful characters.


End file.
